


Where is Thy Victory?

by Drusilla_951



Series: Rowena and Benedicta Trilogy [3]
Category: Arthur of the Britons
Genre: Adultery, F/M, Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Marriage, Original Character Death(s), Post-Canon, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-19 06:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2379119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drusilla_951/pseuds/Drusilla_951
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is dead… Or isn’t he? (This is my rewriting of the “Once and Future King” aspect of the Arthurian myth.)<br/>(<b>Part 3</b> of the "Rowena and Benedicta Trilogy" series, even if AO3 keeps saying it's Part 4...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes after the events in _Let no (Wo)Man put asunder…_  
>  Set in the same AotB fan fiction universe as _Knucklebones_ and _Let no (Wo)Man put asunder…_ This concludes a trilogy of sorts...  
>  _According to[Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/K%C3%BCbler-Ross_model), people go through several stages of grief after a serious loss: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and lastly, acceptance._

**Where is Thy Victory?**

_O Death, where is Thy Sting? O Grave, where is Thy Victory?_

_King James' Bible_ , 1 Corinthians 15:55

“I swear it, it’s the truth!” The young man turned anguished eyes toward Kai. “Arthur is dead.”

The last echo of the sentence died, and a heavy silence ensued.

Kai swallowed and said nothing. He could not speak; his throat felt so constricted that even breathing was difficult. He shook his head.

The ominous announcement upon Brann’s tongue had the ring of truth, but … 

Words now tumbling out of this mouth, the Celtic warrior went on: “I saw him fall over the neck of his horse. The Saxon struck from behind. Arthur – Arthur had no time to dodge the blow. The bastard wielded an axe. As I was fighting for my life, I thought I saw it strike him right on the shoulder.” His voice started to shake. “Arthur was thrown from his horse and three of them fell upon him. He didn’t fight back – He–”

_‘Was reliving it in his mind worse than hearing it for the first time and imagining it?’_ Kai thought almost dispassionately. He couldn’t quite connect the words he heard with reality.

He stole a glance at Llud, who had frozen, his hand in mid-air, the goblet of mead halfway to his mouth and watched him slowly replace it on the table. Llud’s face had turned a sickly shade of grey.

_‘So Llud does believe, and already feels it. Why can’t I feel it?’_

He returned, in his mind’s eye, to the early morning: Arthur rubbing sleepy eyes and laughing good-naturedly, parrying Kai’s riling for his reluctance to rise at first light, leaving the comfort of his wife and bed. Arthur’s mock-wrestling him in retaliation; Rowena’s chiding at their childishness; Benedicta’s even more tardy arrival in the great room where the whole family was breaking their fast, flushing beet red under his quizzical scrutiny; the children, Myrddin and Nimue, wrangling to get the first bite of bread… Later in the morning, Arthur setting forth with a small hunting party, waving back while he passed the village gates, the flash of his smile rivalled by the sparkling of his midnight blue eyes…

A common, peaceful day; nothing more, nothing less.

And now this; this sucking void that threatened to engulf all his being if he didn’t guard against its spreading…

“Where is Arthur?”

His own voice – huskier than usual – surprised him.

The man fidgeting in front of him raised disconsolate eyes. “I – we – I don’t know!”

“You don’t _know_?” Kai rose from the bench. 

Brann uneasily stepped back under his scorching glare, and stammered, “The Saxons took him away. There was nothing we could do. We fought valiantly, but we were outnumbered. And we could not waste another life for –”

He had a good look at Kai’s face, and swallowed convulsively.

“– for a corpse? Wasn’t that what you were about to say?”

Llud intervened. “Kai, they could spare no time to think clearly. Wrath won’t give us Arthur back.”

Kai looked at his father for a moment without quite seeing him. A rictus distorted his mouth; a short spasm that tore up his face before it recovered its deadly stillness. “No, that’s just it – they didn’t think.”

“Kai, no one will bear the blame more gratefully if blame is to be laid.” Brann raised hard eyes to Kai’s frozen face. “Arthur was dead, he _was_. I knelt by his side, in haste, and there was no breath left in his chest. I was not mistaken. After that, there was no time to spare: I guarded my life as I could. We had to retreat.” He gestured towards his own blood-spattered tunic. 

The rents and the wounds were all too real, evidence of the struggle the Celts had been through.

The young man resumed his tale. “When we came back to the place where Arthur was slain, there was only his cloak left, and nothing else. They’d taken him away. There was nothing we could do,” Brann reiterated dully, as if trying to convince himself. “They were a dozen or so, and we were only five. They burst on us unaware…”

“So close to our village, without any warning? I can’t believe that.”

“Yet, they were here. Saxons.”

Kai turned blindly away. His eyes were beginning to burn; he blinked them inefficiently to make the tingle go away. He didn’t succeed. In a hazy mist, Llud’s comment reached his ears: “Some of the renegades Cerdig still fights, no doubt.”

With an authority born from past emergencies, Kai heard himself tell Brann: “Summon the men! We must patrol the defences. Let's make sure all the women and children are inside the palisade.”

After a last look at him, Brann left the room in haste.

Then Kai could let his tears fall.

********

Pain. Excruciating pain.

Cold. Numbing cold.

His shoulder blade was on fire. So was his collarbone. And … he couldn’t move his legs. Strange, how he couldn’t feel the lower part of his body, while the upper part was so sensitive. 

Breathing was a struggle. He concentrated on that; one breath at a time, slowly, deeply. After a while, he stopped counting the breaths coming into his lungs and the ones leaving his body.

He tried to move his fingers. His left arm was pinned under him; his right hand was curled around something solid. Slowly, painstakingly, he unfolded his fingers. His hand shook so much that he stopped in mid-motion, letting his hand shape back around the hilt of the sword.

Sword. He was still holding his sword. From the corner of his eye, he saw the blood-stained blade lying in the mud, among some tufts of yellowish grass and puddles of water.

Water. That was why he felt so cold! He was laying face down on a muddy ridge, with his lower body up to the waist in water. The muck was even clinging to his skin, through his under tunic, the sickly odour of the soil mingling with the faint smell of his own blood.

He shivered. The tremors shook his body as he tried to curl up where he was, still not giving up his grasp on his sword.

As he weakly shifted, he felt unexpected pain roar up his back. It was too much. He tumbled back into oblivion.

********

Pain. Excruciating pain.

Cold. Numbing cold.

Kai shivered all over. He could not stop shaking, try as he might. He staggered back and slumped back down on the bench. He stared at his half-finished meal, felt bile rise in his throat, and shuddered anew.

Slowly he turned, folded his arms onto the table, and buried his face in them. Wordlessly, Llud rested his good hand on Kai’s shoulder until the tremors subsided.

After a long while, Kai raised his head and looked at his father. The older man’s eyes mirrored his own: out of them shone bleak incredulity and pain, rage and sheer despair.

From far away – from a universe less desolate than theirs – they heard a young child’s giggle and the answering laughter of a little girl.

Then Benedicta’s voice rose in laughing scold, “Nimue, I said ‘no’ before and it still stands!”

The normality of her reply hit Kai painfully: how could he break the news to her?

Now she was outside the door. “Thanks, Edan. I couldn’t open it with my arms so full of clothes.” Her voice turned mischievous. “My thanks, but you cannot leave your post, even for courtesy. Letting me in will be enough.”

Benedicta entered the darkened longhut, and dumped the bundle of clothing she was carrying onto the nearest stool. Frowning, she surveyed the collapsing pile, and muttered to herself: “Phew! How Arthur can be so hard on shirts, I cannot imagine! I have enough to mend to busy myself until Doomsday…”

Nimue’s dark head peeked inside the doorway. “Because you don’t sew them solid enough!”

Benedicta swivelled and sprang to catch the little imp, who let out another peal of laughter and ran out of reach, taunting her.

“You little sprite!” Benedicta called out. “Wait till your father come back! No fruit pie tonight for you, though!”

“I don’t care! It’s your turn to cook!”

As Nimue scampered away, Benedicta shrugged, closed the longhut door on the beaming guard’s face, and laughed quietly to herself. “Out of the mouth of babes…”

But as she caught sight of Kai and Llud, standing motionless and silent in the back of the room, her gaiety left her, and as she hastened to them, her gaze lit upon the blood-spattered blue cloak crumpled on a corner of the table. She picked it up with trembling hands, unfolding it, and revealing the large, ragged red-stained rent at the back. As she considered it fixedly, King Athel’s silver clasp caught the light and dully gleamed in the torches fire. However the clasp glistened less than the moisture on Benedicta’s cheeks.

Benedicta swayed; Llud rushed to her side and caught her waist as she fell.

********

Something was tugging at his arm.

His eyelids felt like lead. It was an effort to open them, even a slit. Through the tiny opening, he saw grey light and a blur of something red and brown.

Red. Wasn’t blood red? Would his be the very same colour?

He feebly moaned and once again closed his eyes. His head felt somehow disconnected from the rest of his body; thoughts flitted by, in a haphazard manner and without any beginning or end. A slight pressure upon his shoulder urged him to open his eyes.

The boy kneeling by his side got up and shot an anguished look at the older girl.

“Melyor, I didn’t do nothing, I swear!”

“You didn’t, silly! Look at his back.”

The boy stared at him, a look of horror on his face; the teenage girl put a tentative finger on his brow. 

“He’s cold! We must get help.” Without wasting another moment, she took the boy by the hand and ran off.

********

Brann entered a small hut on the fringe of Arthur’s village. At the sound of his entry, four men who were seated around the fire fell silent, and turned to acknowledge him.

“It is done,” he told them.

Nolan, the oldest, and the ringleader of the group, asked him: “Did they believe you?”

“They did.” Brann seized a goblet of ale from a nearby stool and gulped it down noisily.

One of the seated men, the big-boned, balding Tad remarked: “Hey! That’s mine!”

“Let him! Lies make one thirsty!” Nolan retorted. 

The others guffawed.

Brann lowered his drink. “You forced me to tell lies!”

“– and you will go on telling them!” Nolan said complacently. “Remember, you cannot stand by your wife all day like a nursemaid…” 

The threat hung into the air. Brann felt the blood drain from his face.

One of the warriors, Vaddon, unfolded his lanky body and good-naturedly slapped Brann on the back. “Bad draw, m’boy! Arthur wanted you along to go hunting, and our beloved chieftain got his wish… for the very last time!” He smirked. “Our luck held… What better witness of our desperate fight with ‘Saxons’ than a man in Arthur’s confidence?” He raised his own goblet, and intoned: “To the best hunt of the year!”

The other three conspirators echoed his toast, but Brann looked guiltily at them and remained in stony silence.

This, too, made the others laugh.


	2. Chapter 2

Benedicta moaned, and opened her eyes. The bedroom was entirely dark except for a far-away candle which didn’t give enough light to make out the face of the woman seated at her bedside, but her profile was unmistakable.

Slowly Benedicta sat up. She felt as sore and battered as if she had given birth again. Empty, she felt empty as well. Reminiscences of the dreadful day when she had lost Arthur’s child poured into her mind.

_‘But today, eternal pain saw the light of day; not another baby,’_ she thought dismally.

Her dress rustled as she swung her legs over the side and gingerly straightened up. Rowena bent forward and seized her hands. Hers felt as cold and clammy as Benedicta’s.

“How do you feel?”

“Feel? I wish I didn’t feel – Oh, Rowena!”

Without knowing how it happened, she found herself hugged in a tight embrace. Rowena began to cry, but Benedicta’s eyes remained stubbornly dry.

Sheepishly, Rowena sniffed and brushed her eyes with her sleeve. “Sorry about that! I came to support you and I end up crying like a brook myself.”

“There is good reason to. Yet I can’t – I can’t cry. I wish I could.”

“You will.”

“I know.”

Benedicta smoothed the creases in her skirts, as she got up. “How do I look?”

Rowena’s answer was a look of utter bewilderment.

“I’m not crazy, Rowena. Not yet. How do I look? I do not want to shame my lord.”

After lighting another candle, Rowena brought Benedicta her little Roman mirror – the one she had kept with her all along her journeys – and held it up to her face.

Benedicta rubbed its surface with the corner of a rag, and carefully looked at her reflection in the polished gold. She braided her tangled hair away from her face; the serious style was not to her advantage, as it emphasized her pinched look and deathly pallor. She stared at her mirrored image, tentatively raised her hand to her face, but didn’t attempt to change her appearance.

Benedicta unhooked one of Arthur’s cloaks and draped it around her shoulders. The heavy fabric brushed the soil, lending her additional poise – or so she hoped.

She took a shuddering breath. Head held high, she asked in an unemotional tone: “Where is Kai?”

“Convening the village. Organizing defence. I don’t know exactly. Why?”

Benedicta turned.

Rowena was still in the same spot, holding the little gilded mirror in one hand, tears falling soundlessly across her cheeks.

“I will stand beside him when he speaks to them. It is what Arthur would want me to do.”

********

Telling Nimue had been far worse than even Benedicta had imagined.

Worse than announcing to the villagers that their chieftain was gone. 

They had dispersed without a sound, going back to their everyday chores, apart from those who were needed to carry out Kai’s commands. The wailing and public mourning would have to come later. During Kai’s terse speech, Benedicta felt as if turned into stone, the muscles in her face taut from mastering them into motionlessness.

She had no inkling of what her daughter’s reaction would be. She didn’t remember the day her own mother, Rhiannon, had died in childbirth; she had only been two years old, and all her adult self could recollect was that she had desperately searched for her mother before her memories of her were swallowed up by time. No one in the villa ever talked of her – no one was allowed to – and despite herself, she just … forgot. How could she have forgotten?

_‘I won’t let Nimue forget Arthur, I won’t! Never!’_ Benedicta fiercely promised herself.

Nimue raised her dark blue eyes to her mother and said accusingly: “You said Daddy would talk to me tonight!”

She really hadn’t, Benedicta knew. This was just one of these sentences one says when annoyed, but it made her look like a liar in her daughter’s eyes. She reached for her, but Nimue eluded her embrace and stared rebelliously at her.

Reverting to baby talk, Nimue wailed: “Want Daddy!” Her lower lip began to tremble uncontrollably.

“My darling love, Daddy’s gone to Heaven and he won’t come back to us.”

How could she explain a four-years-old, what death was about? 

Nimue hadn’t been shielded from harsh reality: some of her friends’ fathers had not come back from warring expeditions, and she had seen the killing of cattle and game. But that was outside family; family was safe, Daddy and Uncle Kai and Grandfather Llud were always here to protect and cherish her, and Mama’s arms were always wide open to nestle into.

No matter how many times Benedicta assured Nimue that Arthur had not wished to go away, that he would have wanted to stay with them forever, and that he still loved her very much, Nimue would not listen. Her eyes blotchy with weeping, she belligerently shook her head, put her hands over her ears and screamed for her father.

Her cries stabbed Benedicta’s heart. She shot a helpless look at Rowena and Llud, and stooped to gather the little girl into her arms. Nimue struggled, and screamed with renewed energy, “I don’t want you, I want my Father!”

A few hours later, completely exhausted by her crying, Nimue curled up on Benedicta’s lap. She stroked her daughter’s brow, smoothing out the dark hair so like her husband’s under her fingers. The repetition soothed her as much as it did Nimue.

“I’m putting her to bed.” Benedicta tried to pick her daughter up, but Nimue was already too heavy for her, and she stumbled.

“Let me!” Llud took Nimue from her, and tenderly deposited her in her bed. 

Without waking, the child grabbed her doll – the one Arthur had carved for her – and held on for dear life. 

Benedicta and Llud tiptoed away.

********

The cold had lessened. So had the wetness.

Through his closed lids, he perceived shifting shadows, moving lights and faint sounds that he couldn’t quite grasp.

The man sighed. Breathing felt easier, and this was a relief, but he knew, deep down, that he’d better refrain from moving.

This was unfortunate. He’d have liked to wipe away the salty water coursing down his cheeks.

 

****

 

"Benedicta, Nimue didn't mean it."

Benedicta looked up; her eyes met his. “Didn’t she?” Benedicta heaved a great sigh. 

Llud considered her thoughtfully; her passivity worried him. Benedicta had sat as if changed into a tree while her only child accused her of making her adored father go away.

“You know she didn’t. She’s confused and upset, that’s all. She’ll calm down.”

Benedicta’s eyes widened and she slowly shook her head. 

Llud added: “Benedicta, I have some experience helping children understand death and bereavement…” He paused. “I remember it as if it were yesterday… I lost an elder son; it was very hard for his brother. And I told Arthur how his father died. And Arthur was there when his mother passed away.”

“So?” Benedicta looked squarely at him. “Did it make any difference?”

“It did. He was much older, this is true, but he had to confront it first-hand. Nimue hasn’t any –“

“Say it, Llud! She may hope that her father, one day, will walk through the door… We have no body to wash and dress, no one to bury, no funeral pyre to light. Nothing at all to make it more real for her!” Benedicta laughed bitterly. “Do you think I don’t understand what my child is going through? I feel the same as she does.”

She fixed burning eyes on him. “Nimue thinks I pushed her father away. I know how we spent our last night together, and I will have to live with it through the end of my life!”

“Do you want to speak about it? Your priests say that ‘contrition is good for the soul’.”

“Perhaps they’re right.”

Benedicta gathered her thoughts. “Llud, I fear that Nimue heard us. We were – we were rather, err – vocal.”

“You quarrelled?”

“We did, and when we were done, we –” She blushed. “Arthur wanted another child so much. I told him I didn’t. Not so very soon, at least. I – I didn’t want to go through all this again. The soaring hope, and then, this dreadful disappointment – losing the child so quickly. I never saw it but my heart tells me it would have been the boy Arthur hoped for.” 

She raised her eyes from her obstinate scrutiny of her folded hands. They trembled on her lap.

“Don’t misunderstand me, Llud. I know what my duty is – was. Arthur needs–needed an heir and I knew we’d have to try again. But it hurt so much; I was so scared to lose another one.”

She added, in a much lower tone, “I thought there was no pain greater than to lose a child. I was wrong.”

Llud ventured nothing. He let her speak her mind as her fancy led her, knowing that the relief this unburdening provided would be short-lived, but granting it to her along with his patient and intent listening.

A moment later, Benedicta went on. “We quarrelled, yes. And it was the hardest because anger is heat, and heat between a man and a woman often leads to other things. Arthur had not touched me for months.”

Llud couldn’t mask his surprise.

“Oh, not of my own asking. Arthur told me that he would give me time to heal, and foolishly, I agreed. I was so sore that, at first, it was almost a wonderful respite not to – But nights turned to weeks and then to months. And then I was so scared that he had found another bed, more welcoming, and a lover more skilful than I. I feared that –”

She bit her lips, and added, more softly: “This is not important, now.” She gazed at Llud, but he knew she was not seeing him at all.

“We exchanged bitter words, and all of a sudden, we were kissing – Arthur was holding me, kissing me – I forgot everything else in his arms. When I was aware of what I was doing, there was no turning back: he refused to let me go, saying that I was his to take, as a husband might. I wanted it too, so very much; at least my heart wanted him as much as he wanted me, but my fear said no. So, in the end, he had to –” **[NOTE 1]**

She raised flushed cheeks to Llud’s searching gaze. “However, in the end, we were entirely of one mind, as we were of one flesh.”

“Why this guilt, then?”

“Nimue heard us; she must have.” Benedicta wrung her hands. “I told you, we displayed no restraint. Arthur is – was – very, very persuasive and he knew me thoroughly.” 

“Don’t fret too much about your daughter, Girl.” 

Benedicta smiled wanly. “I pray I won’t have to.” She closed her hands over her midriff. “And I also pray I now have this last gift of his, he wanted so much to impart.”

 

___________________  
 **[NOTE 1]** : According to Canon Law and fifth and sixth century AD custom, a husband was merely exercising his right: his wife was his property. Nowadays, it could be argued as non-consensual marital sex.


	3. Chapter 3

He was lying very quietly on a straw pallet; his eyes were closed, his left arm tightly bandaged; the other one lax at his side. His back wasn’t troubling him now; nor were his legs. He could almost feel the coursing of his blood through his body through the thumping of his heart. The dulling of his pain faintly troubled him; somehow he knew that it may prove a sign of approaching death, this false respite. Despite his best judgement, he tried to rock himself to provoke pain. It obediently flared, spurred on by this command, like a faithful mount.

His eyes suddenly shot open under the assault. They perused the thatching of the roof, and slowly focused on his surroundings: a room, not very large, and smelling of wood fire and various odours as strange as they were tantalizing. Something boiled into a cauldron hung over a small hearth. His gaze travelled over the room, and stopped when it reached the figure of an old woman seated near his bed.

What he saw, he liked. She was dressed in breeches and a mid-thigh tunic, like a man; she had also cropped her white hair like one. It fell with straight tufts onto her shoulder, held back from her face with a leather thong. The face, wrinkled and tanned by years under all kind of weather, was homely but redeemed by a pair of dark eyes, full of wisdom and laughter.

She submitted patiently to his examination, then she said, “You won’t learn my name by staring. I am called ‘the Eldest One’ for I am the prime healer of my tribe. My daughter, who took my place with the wanderers, is the Elder, now. My legs are no longer so good for long journeys, and I settled there for the winter.”

Her voice had a crooning tone that lulled him half to sleep. He closed his eyes again. He felt her lean over him, and roll him over with a surprising strength for someone so frail looking.

“Hmph,” she commented disapprovingly, while her hands kept busy undoing the dressing. The sudden breath of colder air onto his wound was like another assault on his pain. 

“Lie still, you fool!” she ordered. He flinched and clenched his teeth on a moan.

“Self-imposed suffering is needless arrogance, not a wise move,” she admonished him. She finished peeling the inner layer off the wound on his back, smeared it with something sticky, and covered it again. “There. You’d better stay still, my young friend!”

The man croaked, “How–? Who–?”

“My great-grand-children found you, when they went for a swim. You were fortunate it was not far away, and that we managed to move you onto a makeshift travois. Eadric is unfortunately away.”

“Eadric?”

“Melyor’s affianced husband. He was called away by his Lord. There is talk of unrest among the Celts, across the boundary. All able-bodied men are to regroup at Cerdig’s camp.”

_'Cerdig? Why did the name seem so familiar?'_

“Who’s Cerdig?” His throat felt parched. He began to cough. Each shake sent a spear of pain through his body. The woman helped him to prop himself up, and made him swallow a sweet-flavoured draught.

“The King of this land… He offers us shelter, provided I give freely away what healing skills I possess. I might as well do it. Next summer, Melyor will be a Saxon bride, and she learned my trade. She’ll take my place.” The Eldest One looked at him, apparently well pleased. “You will sleep now.”

He had no other choice than to obey, his all too willing body a traitor to his mind.

********

Brother Amlodd rolled the parchment on itself, enclosed it in an oblong wooden box and slid it carefully into his saddlebag. The clerk accompanying him bowed to the two Celtic warriors and preceded him to the door of the longhut.

Amlodd paused before he exited. He still had one point to make, even if that one wasn’t penned on the charter. 

“Kai –”

The blond man raised his bowed head from the obstinate study of his hands. He had kept almost motionless while Amlodd had read Arthur’s last will to him.

Kai had unflinchingly listened to his late chieftain’s decisions, acknowledging him as his kinsman and heir if he died without male issue and as joint adviser and guardian with Llud – if his father still lived – to his underage son, if Arthur ever sired one. As an aside, the charter also commanded Kai to help upholding the Celtic alliance as best he could, for the common good. Some alms and gifts were bestowed to the Church. Arthur left all his remaining worldly goods to his wife, to use during her lifespan and provide dowry to any daughter of his, and mementos to his male kin.

Kai’s hands had absently fiddled with his dagger during the short recitation. As was fitting, Arthur’s will was brief and to the point: the late leader knew his own mind and expressed it without undue excess and flourish.

Amlodd shook his head. He knew the look of a mortally wounded man. This one seemed fit and alive but the expression in his eyes belied this first impression. Grievous wounds were not always inflicted to the body.

He turned back to Kai, and added with compassion: “Kai – I know it cannot be what you hoped for. But your land and your people, you’ll shield, as you ever did under his command. Arthur knew that and he had full confidence and trust in you.”

“I know. But will the others?”

“The charter will help,” Amlodd replied simply.

With a silent nod to Llud, Amlodd went out.

********

Llud turned to his son, perusing his shocked face.

“Did you know that Arthur had this charter drawn up?”

“I – suspected,” Kai grimly said. “He talked of it a while back when I was at odds with Rowena, in the first months of our marriage.” He eyed his father with bleak eyes. “I dismissed it afterwards. I thought he had tried to prompt me to – I should have known. **[NOTE 2]** Arthur’s word must always stand.”

Llud laid a hand on his arm. “Yes. Arthur never wavered when his heart was set on something.”

Kai’s deathly silence made him look a second time at his son. “What is it, Kai?”

“Apart from Arthur dying and his trying to saddle me with his duty?” After a slight pause, he burst out: “I should have gone with him!”

Kai leaned over the table, and without warning, he swept all what was lying on the tabletop onto the floor. Miscellaneous objects – food, cups, flagons, weapons – fell with a crashing sound. Breathing raggedly, Kai plopped down on a stool and took his head between his hands.

“Never wavered? Didn’t he?” He laughed a bitter laugh. “He did. So did I. And now…” 

Llud went to the door and exchanged a few words with the sentry. He picked his way back among the pieces littering the floor and sat down in front of Kai.

“No one will enter. What did you mean by that?”

Kai answered him curtly: “Nothing.”

“Kai, you can’t hide away from me: I raised you, remember? As I once told your sister-by-marriage, ‘contrition is good for the soul’.”

“What is there to say that you don’t already know?” Kai raised blood-shot eyes to his father. “You’ve always known, haven’t you?”

“That you loved Arthur more than a friend should… but no more than you ought? I did.”

Kai turned away and said at length: “Then there is nothing else to add.”

“No, Kai. On the contrary – there is plenty. Wounds like yours can fester if not thoroughly cleaned: it is unfair to Rowena, unfair to Benedicta, and above all – unfair to you.”

“Who said that fairness was part of the bargain? It just – happened.” Kai added in a voice as hard and glistening as his dagger. “Arthur once loved me as I never could have.” Kai’s eyes blazed anguish. “All the same, I always wanted to know him happy, safe – living.” 

He heaved a great sigh. “Arthur accepted me when the other boys only belittled me. At first, I was simply grateful, and then it turned to brotherly love. I had never known such a friend as he – even Roland…” He dejectedly remembered aloud. “I never had a brother. He truly became mine.”

Kai sat upright, sustaining Llud’s attentive gaze and went on: “That’s all there ever was to it. He was my brother and my leader, to command me as he chose. Everything he wanted me do, I did. Except that one thing – but he never asked.”

Llud’s face was non-committal. “Would you have obeyed?”

“I – don’t think so.” Kai answered him with every appearance of truth; nevertheless he wavered after a while. “No – now I’m not really sure. Before I met and loved Rowena, I – Yes, maybe. But this couldn’t have lasted. This was not in me. We–”

He frowned. “Besides, I always wanted my consort to be mine and mine alone. Is it too much to ask?” Kai's anger flared out in the open and subsided just as quickly. He shrugged. “Arthur’s heart was always divided; half of it belonged to his people. How could I have claimed it entirely as my own, even if I were so inclined?”

Llud understood only too well: somehow the abandoned Saxon child still lurked inside Kai’s heart, needing reassurance. Despite his arrogance and self-confidence, his son needed to be the pivot of someone’s existence. In Rowena he had found the cornerstone of his heart; something Arthur could never have been.

Nonetheless Llud hard-pressed Kai into his last defences and softly remarked: “Still, Benedicta did.”

Kai stated harshly: “The difference between princeling and common stock, no doubt! She understands those things. She was born to them. I wasn’t.”

“Enough to share his heart with you?”

“We never shared. What I had was not deprivation for her. What she had, I didn’t want. What need had I for more when I had all that really mattered? His reliance and love?”

Kai made a deprecating gesture. “Anyway, no one ever owned Arthur. What he gave, he freely gave; this was no lessening of him. And he loved Benedicta fiercely, with body and soul. That, I also knew.” After a while, Kai added: “I told you, we never were lovers. I voluntarily shut my eyes and my heart on his one-time craving. But now, I can’t help wondering… Did I act right? If I had returned it, he would never have married Benedicta… It changed him…”

Llud added softly: “—as you changed when you wed Rowena. It is the way of things.”

At the implied reproof, Kai lowered his head.

Seeing that his son was bent on confidence, Llud probed deeper: “Is that why you resented her so much?”

“I didn’t –!” Kai said firmly. He reneged on his words, though. “You’re right: I did. And it’s unfair: Arthur didn’t begrudge me Rowena.” He raised surprised-filled eyes to Llud. “How come you always know–?”

Llud smiled. “You are very much alike, Benedicta and you; did you never realize it?”

“I never thought about it… Truth to tell, I never really thought about Arthur’s marriage. He was content with it. I didn’t care for more. We never talked of it, except once, and we agreed things were as it should be.” **[NOTE 3]** Kai reluctantly smiled then let the smile fade out. “Why is this rock-hard certainty suddenly overthrown by his death?”

Llud stood mute for a minute. Then he said slowly: “Perhaps because a future died along with Arthur. You are a gambler, Kai, even with your heart. Sometimes, knowing what might have been and could yet be is a comfort. Even if it is not all that desirable and completely out of reach.” He shook his head. “But, as you know, the Gods shape the world out of the night as they will.”

“Comfort?” Kai snorted. “What comfort could it be? I would never deceive Rowena! I don’t even wish to. So why does it hurt so?”

“You hurt Arthur and it wasn’t the first time... Guilt comes in many guises, my son,” Llud mused. “It is not always wise to dwell on it, but one cannot always command one’s heart.”

Kai came to him. “Didn’t you?”

Llud looked back at him calmly, but felt Kai draw him into an embrace; Kai hadn’t done that since he was a boy, in the grip of half-remembered nightmares.

It was hard to tell which man found the most comfort in it.

_________________________________________  
 **[NOTE 2]** : _Knucklebones_ , [Part III](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1552658/chapters/3307289)  
 **[NOTE 3]** : [ Let no (Wo)Man put asunder](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1572236/chapters/3359030)


	4. Chapter 4

When he closed his eyes, he sometimes saw shifting shadows; they took shape against the backdrop of his eyelids, spinning on an unceasing round. They often changed but for a few faces he could not even pin a name to; only raw feelings attached to these half-snatched snippets of faintly remembered images.

A white horse at full speed and a low hanging branch, voluntarily not avoided. Hands cradling his nape, calloused but nonetheless very soft.

His first swim – apprehension keeping him on the river bank, as he dubiously dabbled his toes in the cold water. Later, a man's arms keeping him afloat as he thrashed against the hostile element.

Blood seeping from a taller, blond man's neck, as they grappled on the ground. He had given as good as he got, as much from fury as from desperation. His jaw hurt.

A fair-haired woman falling from a horse at his feet – laughter reverberating from his throat. The same woman, yielding and pliant in his arms, as they toppled onto a bed – her skin, welcoming softness, her lips, cool against his. Sharp pleasure, mingling wonder with soaring joy.

A spear grazing his head – anger at himself for being so incautious. The face of the Celt – remorseful, now, as he stood before him in the practice field. **[NOTE 4]**

The tall blond man holding a petite brunette woman – laughing with her, kissing her. His hand cupping her breast; the other one circling her waist. Burning-hot jealousy flaring up. Pleasure to see their happiness.

A little girl holding out her arms to him, wordlessly asking to be carried. Her scent, sweet and honeyed. The simple pleasure of cradling her, as her head fitted into the hollow of his shoulder.

Cries and roars – the screams and whimpers of the wounded – the clash of steel against wooden shields, the thumps of spears reaching their targets – the smell of death. And always, breakneck speed and grim skill, both born of fear and hope. Fear of failure. Hope for victory.

And, above it all, a feeling of deprivation so acute that it threatened to pull him apart.

********

As Kai entered Arthur's bedroom he could not but notice the changes. When there had always been a heart-warming clutter of objects upon the shelves lining the wooden partition, now, there was only tidiness; clothes folded up beneath clothes, crockery gathered together, weapons carefully lined up: all signs of a prepared departure. Benedicta was closely perusing a dagger with a strange expression on her face.

As he came in, she whirled to face the door. Kai could see then that he had not been mistaken by the glimpse of her averted profile. There was despair and anger on it. Swiftly, he moved forward and wrenched the weapon away from her hands.

Surprised, Benedicta took a few steps back. “You may as well keep it,” she said stonily. “Wasn't it yours in the first place?”

It had been. It was another of Arthur's spoils from one of their spur-of-the-moment wagers. Stupid how he had gone on betting against him, even knowing that luck almost always favoured Arthur. Well, it had finally run out for him, as all things must … He slipped the weapon under his leather belt.

“Benedicta, I came to assure you that you must not trouble yourself about the future. You and Nimue will be taken care of. I swear it.”

Benedicta stared ahead as if she hadn't heard him.

“Benedicta, did you hear what I –” Kai cautiously touched her shoulder.

She flinched, and pushed him away. “How _dare_ you?”

She turned her back on him, went to the side table, seized a wooden casket Arthur had meticulously engraved for her, and flung it at the farthest wall, so hard that the box split in two, its lid separating from the main body, her jewellery spilling on the floor.

Wordlessly, Kai went to pick up the pieces and placed them carefully on a shelf.

Benedicta’s incensed voice turned his attention back to her.

“How _dare_ he? How dare he leave me like this? How could he do this to me?”

“Benedicta, you’re not entirely alone…”

“Aren’t I?” Distraught, she took a step back and folded her arms around herself, hugging herself tightly. 

Kai silently watched her, hoping that he could find some words to comfort her and finding nothing but his own private agony.

In a low voice that progressively gained on strength, Benedicta said: “Oh God, Kai, I hate him! I hate him so! How could he leave me so alone?” She closed her eyes, and rocked herself, her hair hanging down in disordered waves on her shoulders. “He made me love him. God knows I didn’t want to, at first… But I couldn’t help myself. I just couldn’t. And now, I’m all alone and I have to go on living because of Nimue, and his child who might be growing inside my womb.”

Kai looked at her sharply.

“Oh yes, we did! The night before – the night before…” She broke off and violently shook her head. “And now, never – never again…”

Kai observed her: drawn-faced as she looked, she was still a very lovely woman, graceful and tall. She would forget, and live on. No woman was forever constant to a ghost, he knew that. However unthinkable it might seem to her at the moment, after a while she would tire of her cold, lonely bed, and find some man to fill the space.

The certainty filled him with sudden anger. He was adamant Benedicta would forget: he had seen enough of these ‘melancholy widows’ who were eager for a quick fuck behind closed doors. Hell’s Teeth! He had provided enough of that in his own time! Benedicta would not be so very different from the others…

Cruelly, Kai found himself saying, “Time will change your mind.”

“Don’t say that!” Benedicta heatedly retorted. “How can you say that?”

Her anger hit him like a well-aimed spear. A thought crossed his fevered mind: _‘Better teach her what fickleness is.’_ With a weird feeling of triumph, he took a step towards her, took her in arms, and bent his head to hers.

Benedicta tasted like honey and salt, as if all the tears she had shed had permeated her whole body. Kai tightened his hold. After a few seconds, she was passive under the pressure of his lips, knowing the uselessness of her struggle. 

Their response took them both by surprise; as the kiss deepened, they were aware of a growing spark that threatened to burst into a full-fledged conflagration. Benedicta began to rebel against his touch, and Kai released her.

They stared dumbly at each other, shocked into self-awareness.

Shame carved onto her face, Benedicta turned away. “What kind of a woman am I, to do what I’ve just done?” Her tone was utterly dejected. She buried her face in her shaking hands.

_‘She couldn’t even put a name to it’_ , Kai thought. He couldn’t either. What was this madness that had seized them both?

He wasn’t in love with Benedicta; the only woman who had truly captured his heart was his own wife. Rowena’s attractions were endless for him, delightful and familiar; her heart, an utter comfort, her mind, an unfailing companion. She was the only woman whose carnal knowledge didn’t fade away with repetition, but bewitched him and bound him in ties he never wanted to see severed as long as he drew breath.

There had to be more than a harsh lesson bestowed with this irresistible compulsion… Had he somehow tried to get closer to Arthur by kissing those lips her husband had kissed, by slipping his tongue where Arthur’s had entwined? Whatever the attempt, it was doomed to failure.

Kai stared at Benedicta, hunched before him, and said very quietly, “The fault is mine.”

Benedicta raised her eyes, uncomprehending.

“It is. I’m no better than you; I feel the same. I wanted to hurt Arthur too, for leaving us. And what better opportunity to do so than to try to take his woman from him?” The finality of his own avowal appalled him.

Benedicta’s eyes filled with horror and pity. Hastily, she countered, “No, Kai. I am to blame. If I hadn’t –”

“There is no need for a contest of guilt, you know… It’s useless.”

She looked directly at him. “You do sound like Arthur, you know.”

“Hmmm. It has rubbed off on me somehow. But I’m not him, Benedicta. I can never be.”

Benedicta gave him a wan smile. “I am well aware of that.”

“Good.”

“I also know that this never happened.” Benedicta rubbed her bruised lips. “Please, Kai, don’t ever speak of it to Rowena. I don’t want to lose her, too.”

Kai nodded. “Indeed. It never happened.”

********

_Arthur is dead._ Arthur _is_ dead.

This ghastly awareness didn’t grow easier with time. Instead, a week later, Kai found himself shaking with the deprivation of his brother’s presence.

_‘Time eases all things’_ , Llud said. It didn’t.

Not that one thing. Not for the first time, Kai wondered how Llud had had the fortitude to take in a lost Saxon boy while he struggled against his own losses: the deaths of his beloved wife and son. Perhaps the demanding task had been what Llud needed to go on living. Perhaps assuming Arthur’s everyday burdens would help him, Kai, to trudge through the next months and years.

********

He _had_ to go home.

A feeling of urgency washed over him. He’d spent too long confined to this bed. Painstakingly, he rolled over and, rocking back and forth, managed to sit up. The room swam before his eyes. Stubbornly, he managed to stand upright, his hand gripping the wooden planks of the wall for better balance. His left arm hung awkwardly by his side.

He stopped as suddenly as he had moved, shut his eyes, and let out a hiss of pain. What he felt, he still controlled within, but the strength of it would not be denied too long.

The Eldest One helped him back to his bed. He aided her as best he could, more by force of will than any physical strength. Both of them panting with the exertion, she laid him out on the pallet, then rolled him onto his stomach, and made some disapproving sounds.

“It has broken again,” he said wearily. “Yet, I was careful.”

“So it has.” 

With his help, The Eldest One loosened his thin linen shirt, and pulled it over his head. She clicked her tongue as she looked more closely.

“You will have to stay abed for a long while longer. Where were you headed, fool that you are?”

“I – I do not remember.” He clutched his head. It throbbed less now, but an enduring ache made thinking difficult. He felt her dabbing at his back, and winced. “What are you bathing the wound with?”

“Adder’s tongue water.” The Eldest One sighed. “I’ll have to send the girl for more supplies. Betony and woundwort. Yes, it might do. It usually works well with such wounds.”

She sounded confident, but he seemed to have been here forever. “How long have I been here?”

“Not yet a month. Don’t fret.” 

He lay passive under her hands. When she was done, he courteously thanked her, as he always did.

“The less you stir, the sooner you’ll be well enough to leave this place; do you hear me?”

He nodded his submission.

********

Why did this gesture sit so ill with him? Perhaps it was the imperiousness of his gaze, veiled as it was with pain; or the unwilling eloquence of a body which seemed so eager to hide his inner thoughts. Despite his reserve, that young man was a leader of men. The Eldest One had seen enough of humankind to know one that was not from the common clay.

Who he was and what he was doing in the wilderness, half-stretched across mud and water, his face caked in blood and dirt, his left arm mangled and his life fleeing through the gash on his back, he had not been able to tell her.

He sparingly spoke of faces and places, carefully describing those who came back in his nightmarish dreams, but he could not put any names upon them, and she had been in seclusion for so long, she could not help.

The Eldest One shook her head. Living this far remote in this stretch of land, so far apart from the Saxon villages, news travelled slowly. She would have to wait patiently till Eadric's return to inquire.

 

________________  
 **[NOTE 4]** : _Knucklebones_ , [Part III](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1552658/chapters/3307289).


	5. Chapter 5

Soon after Arthur’s death, Cerdig sent emissaries to Arthur's village, denying any responsibility for the attack on the hunting party, and reiterating his adherence to their common pact. He also communicated his regrets for the demise of his 'young ally and old enemy', promising to punish his attackers if they could be found. “My honour depends upon it,” Cerdig stated.

Perhaps these were empty words, but the mere repetition of them was perchance a hope for future peace in the land. There was wariness on both sides of the boundary, but the skirmishes had decreased with each year that passed since the Celtic-Saxon alliance pact had been drawn: Hoxel's rampage had proved a unifying bond. Common fear was sometimes an easier-borne tie than true friendship.

When he first received Cerdig's message, Kai, as the very new chieftain-elect of his village, incredulously whispered to Llud: “As if the old fox weren't sorry he hadn't first thought of a like deception...”

As it was, Kai was still settling uneasily into his new role. Two months had not eased all the frictions between him, and his former comrades-in-arms. Kai sometimes felt as if he had put on a new tunic with very tight armholes, imperfectly cut to his size. He could not help trying to reach for the warriors as if they were still on an equal footing, and he not higher on a chain of command that allowed no true intimacy, no real companionship. He had learned that he had to keep separate. And he also learned first-hand, with a few bitter lessons, the excruciating weight that leadership had placed on Arthur's shoulders. 

Sometimes he wondered if he would not be crushed beneath it.

Whether through the public knowledge of Arthur's last will, or through a true appreciation for his warrior skills and allegiance, he had been unexpectedly chosen to step into Arthur's footsteps. 

Rowena told him she wasn't surprised; having been in Arthur's confidence for so long certainly had its merits. 

“Burdens, rather!” Kai retorted. 

Yet Kai wasn’t sure he would have been able to obey any other man but Arthur. Perhaps Llud … If not for Llud, he would have considered uprooting himself and joining Yorath's camp… But Llud was no longer a young man; would the village have saddled him with such responsibility? He had brought up one leader, so the Celts finally gave his other son a chance, Kai whimsically thought.

“They elected two men, with the designation of one!” Kai remarked to Rowena, as they were lying side by side in their bed. Kai propped himself on one elbow. With his other hand, he lightly outlined his wife’s breasts, and he began to stroke them the way she liked.

Rowena purred low in her throat and snuggled closer to him. “Perhaps they did... Aren’t you grateful for Llud's advice? He has been at it for so long…”

“I am... and for your help too, my sweet.” 

He slowly lowered his head to hers, and covered her lips with his in a leisurely kiss. 

After a few minutes Rowena pulled back and rested her forehead in the crook of his shoulder, then pecked it, her hands roaming Kai’s chest.

She smiled up at him. “Empty words, dear My Lord! Can’t you show a little more enthusiasm?” She seized his hand and placed it where she wanted it all along.

Kai’s face lit up with a huge grin, as he determinately applied himself to his thanks.

********

Gradually, softening his temper with hard-learned patience, and still proving that his axe-arm was something to be feared in the fields of battle, Kai gained ground with the reluctant Celts.

Four months after Arthur's death, he finally began to feel some confidence in his aptitude for leading his adopted people. More importantly, they felt the same. Few contested his decisions now, trusting him to lead them to victory and to keep peace inside the village. A few victories, and some successful trading bargains took care of the last shreds of uncertainty. Even Nolan seemed to accept his new yoke.

Then Arthur’s death hit the Celtic alliance like a lightning bolt upon dry wood, setting it temporarily aflame. Mark of Cornwall, as usual, was the firebrand.

********

In the past, some of them would have taken seized upon Arthur’s death as an opportunity, but now, though they hadn’t relished Arthur's iron rule, they could see the advantages it had brought: peace with Cerdig for a handful of years, and squabbling among themselves reduced through Arthur’s careful and forceful management. So when Llud summoned the chieftains, they willingly set out.

When he had them gathered together, Llud talked for some time, stressing what Arthur had achieved; they could not but sullenly recognize it. He spoke of his departed chieftain’s constant concern for the well-being of the land, of his vigilant protection of the common good; he also reminded them of their reluctant acceptance of Arthur’s leadership and how they had overcome that reticence.

That said, there was some interruption. 

Mark of Cornwall did much of the bellowing, but his impassioned speech was cut off by his closest neighbour, Lancelin of Cornwall, who reminded Mark that Arthur had upheld Mark's claim on their boundaries, and that, he, Lancelin, had bowed to Arthur’s wisdom. Hadn’t Mark then been one of Arthur’s most outspoken partisans, saying that Arthur had been just and fair?

Mark was shamed into silence.

Yorath used the lull in Mark’s discourse to remind them all that he had secured his alliance with Arthur’s tribe by marrying his only daughter and heiress to Arthur’s foster-brother, to their mutual advantage, and that he had provided warriors who had defended them all against the Picts, and Hoxel’s Saxons. It was all the more necessary to strengthen their pacts, now that Arthur wasn't there to enforce them.

Some heated squabbling ensued.

It was clear that Mark hoped that he could persuade his fellow chieftains to accept him, as leader of the Celts, in Arthur’s place, here and now.

Not so easily, Llud thought, by the frowning of Yorath, and Lancelin’s scornful gaze.

In the meantime, the chiefs finally agreed that Llud, who had known Arthur’s mind – and battle plans – would take the interim. First of all, it was of prime importance that the alliance, with its head cut off, would not fall apart through petty rivalry.

Afterwards, Kai asked him what had been his intent. 

Llud could not really say: he recognized it would take a miracle of Arthur’s One God to have a Saxon-born elected to lead the Celtic tribes, yet… No, he could not realistically hope for it. Nor could he be satisfied for any of the other chiefs to lead them all.

The twitching of Llud’s nose prompted him to stall for time. But why? 

He didn’t know. Instinct and reason fought against it, but he had to.

Afterwards, he almost believed it was a little nudge from the Gods.

********

Kneeling before a carved chest, Benedicta took her time to straighten up from her current task: neatly folding and tidying up all Arthur’s possessions into his chests.

One of them was already closed and ready to go. She had already unhooked the weapons adorning the wall in front of her and placed them in between the folded cloaks. His jewellery, she had deposited into a box she locked. This one, too, found its way into the same chest. The few books they owned were too precious to be stored that way; she would wrap them more securely before moving them.

Then she turned to face Rowena, who was watching her in silence: her eyes sore from weeping.

Rowena had been shattered by Arthur's death. Benedicta knew she still wept intermittently, but usually had enough self-control to present a calm face to the outside world, and to her husband, adamantly refusing to add to Kai’s burden with fits of crying.

The time was not so distant when Rowena had truly believed she was in love with Arthur – before meeting her future husband had wakened her from her daydreams. Her erstwhile flight of fancy now seemed to Rowena like moonbeams compared to a ray of sunshine; nonetheless she still felt tenderness for Arthur, as well as gratitude for his kindness and unshakable support when she had struggled in the first steps of her life with the Celts. He had been like an elder brother, teasing yet utterly dependable.

But more than her own weeping, she kept worrying about Benedicta’s seeming impassivity. Nothing seemed to shake that wooden acceptance of her family’s destruction.

“You don't have to move out, you know!” Rowena exclaimed, and bit her lip. 

Benedicta heaved a sigh; it was so like Rowena, to plunge headlong into the heart of the matter, instead of addressing it with due diplomacy!

“You know as well as I do that we have to,” Benedicta replied. “The village expects it. How can Kai be accepted as the new ruler if he doesn't embrace all the trappings, along with the duties?”

“Still... Do you have to do it so quickly?”

Benedicta looked unflinchingly in Rowena's eyes. She was angry, despite herself.

Didn’t Rowena understand what it was to lie awake all night, hearing the familiar sounds of the world and searching for the ones heralding Arthur's late return, his footsteps, the sound of his belt hitting the floor when he disrobed in the dark; the rustling of the bed covers pushed aside as he settled beside her? No, she probably didn't.

Benedicta knew it would take years for her to stop expecting those noises, but she'd rather remove any opportunities for too much reminiscing as soon as possible. An unfamiliar new dwelling might help.

“Rowena... I will speak plainly. It did credit to his heart but – Arthur made some very inconvenient choices in his family; a Roman wife, a Saxon-born brother and heir, and a Jute sister. _He_ could afford them. But Kai will have to prove himself again and again… How long will it be before the Celts remember – and reproach – Kai’s birth, if he doesn't stick with the Celtic customs? It's been weeks, and still, he hasn't taken real possession of the longhut.”

Rowena said nothing. After a while, Benedicta went back to her storage preparations. She began to sort out cauldrons and pots.

“– Besides, Llud wholeheartedly agrees with me. You should value the advice of one who held the tribe together after the Pendragon's death, even if you don't heed mine.”

“But...”

At the end of her tether, Benedicta reached the nearest shelf, grabbed a pot at random, and quite deliberately smashed it.

Rowena yelped in surprise.

Benedicta looked down at the piece of broken pottery lying at her feet. She said, without an ounce of guilt: “I’m sorry if it annoys you, Rowena. I wasn’t going to take it with me, anyway. Did you much care for it?”

“No. It was very ugly.” Some sparks of reluctant humour widened Rowena’s eyes. “I smashed too much crockery in my unruly youth to scold you about that!”

“So you did. Arthur used to joke about it, saying you were a very expensive wife for Kai to keep.” Benedicta pushed away the fragments of the pot with her toes and faced Rowena again. “Let’s try again, Rowena.” She carefully enunciated, “I will leave the longhut with Nimue, and you, Kai and Myrddin will take our place.”

Rowena raised her hand in mute protest.

“Really, Rowena, do you imagine I want to live alone where love once was? Besides, the _leader_ of the village lives in the long hut.”

Rowena sighed. “If you so wish. I suppose moving in will ease Kai into his new responsibilities. But _I_ , for one, cannot and will not, live in Arthur’s home.”

Benedicta saw Rowena’s stubborn frown and remained silent.


	6. Chapter 6

As the weeks went by, Brann felt as if he could not remember a time when he was not warily looking over his shoulder. Vigilance was well and good when facing foes, but this was an unexpected hardship in the midst of his own camp. Arthur had kept the peace between the warriors of his tribe, impartially administering justice. He was gone now, and Brann wondered whether he would dare, one day, to lay his troubles before Kai and Llud, whatever the consequences for him might be.

He knew he was watched unceasingly by Nolan and his henchmen; they were beginning to haunt his dreams.

There was not a day where the four men didn't crop up, smiling evilly, to confront him. The mere sight of them, even from afar, now caused icy sweat to break out on his back. He knew, without being told afresh, that they would strike at his family without compunction, if he breathed a word of what he'd witnessed.

The sly attack on Arthur had been a masterpiece of timing. He hadn't even had the chance to defend his chieftain. In his mind's eyes, Brann saw, again and again, Arthur's fall from his horse, struck down by Nolan's spear; his weak defensive parrying. Though Brann had urged his horse on, he’d been too slow to prevent the blow to Arthur’s head that had ended the fight, but as Arthur’s unconscious, battered body lay in the grass, his hand still clamped around his sword hilt, Brann had defended himself fiercely, gaining nothing but wounds and threat of death – for him and his family.

In the end, he had bowed to the inevitable and agreed to lie to Kai and Llud.

The story was already prepared: renegade Saxons had taken them unawares, and carried Arthur's body away. If the Celts ever found it, they would assume that the hunting party’s pursuit had made them divest themselves of an unwelcome burden. Nolan, in his hatred of Arthur, even wanted to deprive him of the proper funeral rites.

Nolan had not noticed the faint breath that issued from Arthur's mouth. The cautious murderer had not even wanted to sully his hands with the results of his treachery. At least, he could truthfully swear that he didn’t know where Arthur’s remains were laid. 

While carrying Arthur’s body away from the main path – as he had been commanded to – supposedly to throw him into the nearby river, Brann had managed to leave Arthur in plain sight on the river bank. He could do no more.

When he had left him, Arthur lived yet, that much was true. Brann relied on that belief. But his hope of seeing him again, hearty and whole, dwindled, as days followed days, and weeks piled up. No sign of Arthur had been found. Brann was now convinced that his body had slowly slipped into the river and been carried away.

Dejection and remorse gnawed at his heart.

********

Eadric paused behind the hut, and wearily unslung his backpack. He had been looking forward to coming home since Cerdig had dismissed his army, learning that – at least for now – the uneasy balance of power between Saxons and Celts had not tipped in his favour.

He listened intently. Nothing stirred in the clearing; dust billowing in the light of the oblique sunbeams, greenery and half-tilled soft soil the only things to see. 

From the other side of the hut came a burst of laughter. Alar's voice. Reassured, he approached his home.

Another voice rang out; Melyor's, this time. 

The sound caused a tightening in his groin. Next summer, the girl would come of age, and their marriage would at last take place. He had watched her flower from an awkward child into maidenhood, as the Wood People, her wandering tribe, trod these forest paths, year after year; he had been prompt to offer shelter to her family when the occasion arose. Cerdig had been reluctant to accept the 'witches' on his territory, but as their usefulness made itself more obvious, the Saxon King had reason to be glad he hadn’t chased them off.

The ringing sound of a masculine voice struck Eadric’s ears like a clap of thunder. Melyor's answered back, laughing more uproariously. He couldn’t understand what they were saying.

Eadric froze, his hand already on his axe shaft. He circled his dwelling stealthily, staying under cover of the nearby trees, and crouched behind a thorn bush.

From his hiding place, he saw a dark-haired man – a Celt? No! Surely it couldn’t be … not here – seated on the ground and propped against the wall of the hut, clumsily holding a bale of fleece wool on his knee, while Melyor was using a carding comb to work on it. She laughed again.

“No, Walha, don't hold it so low! I can't work it properly!”

Eadric thought it curious that she addressed the man as 'foreigner'; why didn’t she just use his name? She must know it; she already seemed to know him rather too well...

The stranger shook his head ruefully. “Sorry. I'm quite new at this, I'm afraid.”

“That’s obvious. There!” Melyor positioned his hand at an acceptable level. “Don't you dare move, now.” 

A wave of anger surged through Eadric and his hand tightened on the axe.

Meylor’s younger brother watched the proceedings with scornful eyes. “This is not a man's work!”

“No, Alar, it isn't,” the stranger replied. “But occasionally, necessary things must be done whatever the cost to one's pride.” He winked at Alar, and obediently held still so the comb would more easily run through the wool.

Meylor worked energetically for a while, then took the carded wool into her hands, and placed it in a basket. “Perfect! All that work has made me thirsty... Do you want some water too, Walha?” 

The man nodded in answer, and as Meylor and Alar disappeared into the hut, he closed his eyes, basking in the sun.

Eadric rose from his hiding place and crept toward the entrance. 

But the stranger must have heard him, because he groped for a weapon, then scrambled awkwardly to his feet.

Eadric raised his weapon.

“Eadric, no!”

He froze, his axe inches from the stranger’s head.

Meylor dropped the two goblets she carried, and frantically threw herself onto the Saxon's neck. “No, Eadric, don't! Walha is a guest.”

“A guest?” Eadric parroted suspiciously.

“The Eldest One's guest,” Meylor insisted. She looked up at him. “He is no threat to you.”

The dark-haired stranger rose from his half-crouched position, favouring his left arm. He was taller than Eadric, but his stance held no hint of antagonism. 

Eadric slowly relaxed, and let his axe-arm fall back against his side. He squinted at the stranger: the bright sun made it difficult to see him clearly, but his fine-featured face was familiar. Eadric held his tongue, thinking over the occasions when he might have met this slim, fiery-eyed warrior, with flint-dark, commanding eyes.

The stranger gestured toward the entrance of the hut, “Am I keeping you from your own hearth? Pray, enter.”

Eadric frowned uneasily. ‘ _That voice…_ ' A voice used to command but which could mellow to prompt more obedience yet. Where had he heard it before? He couldn't quite recall.

The man moved aside to let him pass.

The elegant smoothness of the motion and the innate courtesy rang a bell, and in a flash, he remembered. _That_ night. The night of the failed pact with the Celts – the first attempt as it turned out. 

Eadric’s father had been unable to attend, being already laid low with the sickness which would kill him some months later, but Eadric had been proud to be chosen to join the eldest warriors in Cerdig's party; a reward for his father's loyalty, this choosing. He had been proud to be there to bear witness, to stand on the fringe of an event that would change his people' destiny!

It hadn't; not at the time. Even so, on his return home, he had been able to boast to his friends that he had watched as Kai 'the Saxon who rides with Arthur' strode by, and even Arthur the Bear himself; watched as Arthur negotiated with Cerdig, and stood to defend Yorath’s daughter Rowena from some slighting remarks.

“Arthur?!”

The man started, and stared fixedly at him. Now that his face was dead still, Eadric was certain of it. He briefly wondered which rich reward Cerdig would award him for this earth-shattering discovery. Enough to keep Melyor decked in jewels and buy more cattle, he hoped.

Arthur of the West blinked and swayed.

********

Flickering images began to form; they slid down, hitting the walls of his brain and piling up in the recesses of his memory; they turned into snatches of sentences, words overlapping each other, morsels of information, then to full-fledged memories.

Under this unrelenting assault, Arthur winced, and grabbed at his head with clenched fists.

Among this roaring in his brain, he dimly heard the man, Eadric's voice, full of incredulity. “But – the Celts said you were dead!”

When Arthur opened his eyes, there was a new resolve in their depths.

“I'm not.” He slowly smiled a feral smile. “I must have a word with Cerdig. Quickly. See to it.”

********

The night was full of scents, as Arthur walked cautiously through the thickening forest, evading Saxon and Celt alike. He hit a narrow track he knew; not the main one, but a twisting trail, snaking between the trees. He wore no cloak, only a thick leather over-tunic over a linen shirt, both awkwardly mended at the back, but his brisk pace warded off the cold.

The wood was very thick; the sky intermittently seen through the leaves was clear and sparkly. But Arthur needed no stars to direct his steps; he knew his road well enough. Sometimes, the path emerged into a clearing, but it was soon to resume its trail through the shadows of the trees. 

After a few hours of this circuitous walking, Arthur paused. He took a leather flask out of his bag and drank thirstily. His strength was not fading, not really, but he knew he'd better be cautious not to overspend himself; not when he was so near his goal. Opposition might be found, and he would need all his speed and wit to overcome it.

He chuckled. Truth be told, he hoped there would be some sort of opposition. An easy victory would not be to his liking; testing his strength was fine, but to be defeated would be better, even if it would hurt his pride.

They _had_ to expect the unexpected.

And he would do his best to provide it.

********

The first part was easy. Kai hadn’t made any changes in the warning system. Arthur slid under the bushes and stepped over the hidden ropes, avoiding the too obvious paths with an ease born of long practice.

In spite of its beckoning darkness, the hidden path was the most dangerous. It appealed to concealed progress, giving to an enemy a false certainty of safe advance. However, faint discolorations in the grass and differences in the ground attested to the presence of the deep, hidden pits that the villagers had dug under Arthur's guidance.

The full moon shone brightly enough for Arthur to see the first of the new traps: to his watchful eyes, the coarse grass seemed too carefully trimmed. He cautiously backed down and climbed a nearby tree, testing the branches before dropping to the ground on the other side of the hazard. There! He had successfully negotiated that one. He congratulated himself, inwardly rejoicing in the recovered strength in his left arm: he had feared for a while that his shield-arm would never recover its previous strength. The past week, practising with Eadric, had finally put his mind at rest.

Was over-confidence his undoing? As he hid behind a bramble bush, he saw that there was now a stretch of open ground to cross where before, there had been only undergrowth and green dimness. His senses straining for unexpected pitfalls, he took a step forward, then another.

All of a sudden, he felt the soil give way beneath him. He fell, clawing at the earthy wall, managed to grab at an outcropping, and hold fast. The muscles in his shoulder twanged under the strain. Arthur swore, more in surprise than in pain. 

He hoisted himself up onto the crumbling ledge, almost a man’s height below ground level, and dug his hands more deeply into the soft earth to stop himself from slipping.

A shadow obscured the night sky. From the edge of the pit, a sentry was looking down at him, spear at the ready, its tip perilously near his unprotected throat. 

Arthur tossed his head, flinging his hood back onto his shoulders, and looked tranquilly back at Edan.

Edan stared, gasped, and almost let his weapon fall from his hand.

Precariously spread against the wall of the pit, Arthur grinned back at him. “I'm relieved to know you are on the alert, Edan!”


	7. Chapter 7

Fresh from the connubial bed, and highly incensed, Kai strode into the long hut, followed by Llud. He’d just had word that an intruder had successfully negotiated the best part of the defences without setting off the warning system. 

_‘What one man could achieve, others could emulate,’_ he savagely thought. _‘Even without the cover of night.’_

The clouds hiding the full moon were not entirely to blame for this gap in their new defences. He would have to think harder about it.

As he authoritatively entered the great hall, his fingers hard-clenched on the dagger hanging at his hip, he cast one swift glance across the room, then stopped where he stood, a look of thunderstruck amazement on his face. Close on his heels, Llud took a sharp breath, and went dead still.

“Arthur!” Kai gasped. He swayed; the room spinning on itself under the whirlwind of his joy.

Arthur stayed where he was, two sentries flanking him: a mock-prisoner of his own people. “Glad to know you remember my name!” he said courteously.

At Kai’s look of utter incredulity, the Celtic chieftain laughed aloud. “You should be gladder that I could not pass entirely through! I commend your work: the south defences needed some reinforcements.”

Kai struggled to get his breath, and moved forward.

Suddenly, without knowing which man took the first step, they found themselves holding each other tightly, as they had not done since they were mere striplings. Arthur’s cheek briefly rested on Kai’s shoulder. Desolate loss was at long last assuaged; mutual understanding of their past misery shimmered between them, flared up then died down. They pulled back a little, still holding each other by the shoulders. Force of habit reasserted itself, as did their awareness that they walked a dagger-edged path which they had no desire to follow.

Kai’s hands found the rip in Arthur’s over-tunic, and he pulled away hastily. “Your back! Forgive me.”

“Fully mended now.” Arthur wryly smiled. “The Eldest One is a poor seamstress but powerful healer. Though the wound took its damn good time, I’m now as I ever was.”

He looked over Kai’s shoulder, and with a jerk of his head, summoned Llud into their embrace.

When they finally broke apart, they found the sentries smiling as hugely as they were themselves. Kai and Llud could not entirely release Arthur; they still held him at arm’s length, while the three of them assessed the changes the last months had brought.

Despite his self-control, Arthur looked like a tense and ravenous wolf, with feverish keen eyes. He sorely needed a haircut: the undisciplined mane brushed his hollowed cheeks like raven wings. If his carriage didn't give any hints of his injury, he still bore the ravages of the past months. He had always been slender, but his face was now emaciated, and the thickness of his clothes ill-disguised the loss of weight.

********

Arthur was pained to see that Kai seemed harried; though his easy-going nature briefly reasserting itself in flashes, Arthur guessed that Kai had borne leadership like a burden. But perhaps it hadn’t been too irksome. Kai had natural abilities that he had never drawn upon; till then, there had been no need. But this was all to the good. Kai would, one day, be consort King to Rowena’s Queen; the Jute people would find in him a co-leader tempered by fire, but not scorched by failure.

More grey had found its way into Llud’s hair, but he appeared more or less the same.

What about Benedicta and Nimue? How had his family gone through this blaze? 

Arthur knew that his wife and daughter still lived in the village. Benedicta had adamantly refused to join Lancelin in Cornwall, but apart from that, the sentries had been unwilling – or unable – to say more. He clenched his teeth in tense expectation.

Whatever the changes might be, he would have to break the news more gently to his women; testing Kai had been a temptation Fate had handed to him on a plate and he had mischievously indulged himself. But he could not inflict that on his unwitting spouse.

“Benedicta?” he asked.

It was Llud who answered: “As well as can be expected. Your death hit her very hard. She hated you for a while, but –”

Arthur’s imperious glance demanded an explanation.

“– for dying. Then she settled with difficulty into her widowhood. There is only Nimue in her life. But she is a shadow of the woman you knew, and Nimue still cries for you every night.”

Arthur felt his heart contract. “I hastened to come back, as soon as I was able to, believe me.”

“Could you not send word to us?” Kai demanded.

“No.” Arthur lowered his voice so that the sentries would not hear. “For a long while, I did not even know who I was. Still in ignorance, I first rose from my bed a month ago. When it finally came back to me, I remembered that it was a Celt who had almost killed me.”

The quiet announcement struck like lightning.

“No Saxon marauders?”

“Saxons?” Arthur ironically queried, “Is that the tale that was circulated?”

Llud briefly recounted what Brann had told them.

Arthur’s voice shook with rage. “There were only us Celts. I was struck from behind and they dismounted to finish me off. I was barely conscious at that time.” He closed his eyes in remembered agony. “I awoke by a stream. Children of the Wood People found me. Your ‘witches’, Kai! Well, those ‘witches’ saved my life. And they weren’t even related to the ones we once helped...”

He gazed down into the brazier that illuminated the room. “When I was able to think clearly, I had to tread carefully… Cerdig helped: for the present, he has nothing to gain in Celtic instability. I’ll tell you more later.” He raised his voice. “At present, I want Nolan, Vaddon, Sion, Tad, and Brann snatched from their beds and placed under guard. _Now_!” 

Llud signalled the sentries and went out with them.

Arthur mused aloud: “I gambled all on who would be on guard. If you had changed the shifts... If _those_ had kept vigil while I crossed our defences, I was a dead man…” He heaved a great sigh. “Anyway, I’d rather sleep the rest of my first night home, on a shielded pillow.” His tone promised inflexible retaliation; then its cutting edge dulled. “Where is Benedicta?”

“She insisted on moving to another hut. Rowena kept ours. I sometimes sleep in the longhut.”

Arthur quickly glanced at his brother. “You had to. But you’ll oblige me by removing yourself.”

Kai grinned his sun-touched smile. “I will _very_ gratefully obey, as of tomorrow!” He gleefully nudged Arthur, and laughed out loud: “It’s very good to have you back! Won’t they be surprised?” 

They exchanged mischievous looks.

********

Benedicta was sleeping fitfully, her head pillowed on an old shirt of Arthur’s.

She had hidden away the rest of Arthur’s clothes, but she had not had the heart to give them away. She knew it was selfish; good embroidered garments were not to be disdained in a place where nothing – even when broken – was easily thrown away, but mended if it were possible. Nonetheless she could not resign herself to risk seeing from afar Arthur’s clothes on another man’s back; she wasn’t eager to draw in her breath, believing, just for a moment of madness, that he had come back from the dead.

This one shirt had not been laundered, and never would be – not while it still held the smell of her husband. Back from the practice field, he had carelessly discarded it, throwing it on the floor before changing into a fresh one, and the fabric was still pervaded with the tart aroma of his sweat. Such an evasive, fleeting thing, scent! But before she drifted off to sleep, it still conjured for her the comforting presence of her husband.

********

Deeply moved, Arthur looked down at Benedicta.

What should he do? He had no clear idea, no plan, except that leaving her in the grip of such nightmares as she was treading through seemed unnecessarily cruel. Waking her would be as difficult.

Thoughtfully, he began to strip out of his clothes, routinely folding them onto a stool.

He knew they wouldn’t be disturbed. There was a guard nearby, and Nimue was sleeping in one of her friends’ homes. Her small bed, at the foot of her mother’s, was empty.

Wearing only his breeches, Arthur carefully slipped into the bed, taking care not to disturb his wife. As his skin brushed against hers, he suddenly tensed, his senses already ablaze with this slight contact. Indeed it had been too long a time…

‘ _My dear delight…_ ’

Still dreaming, Benedicta turned and nestled against him as if she had heard his thought, all the while murmuring his name. Arthur flung away the smelly old shirt that lay onto the pillow and held his wife close. She snugly fit in the circle of his arms, sleek and soft, warm with sleep, as if there had never been any heartache between them, no sense of unbearable estrangement.

Her body felt both strange and wonderful. In the grip of his nightmares, he had summoned her presence and had called for her unceasingly, hoping against hope that this white and golden ghost would chase away his pain. He had alternatively called out for another blond vision, his shield-arm since he was but a newly orphaned youth.

His last brush with death had left him enriched with a new knowledge about himself. He knew now that he loved both of them with the same fierce surge of caring, it being only limited by his keen sense of responsibility and the fairness ingrained in him by his parents. But this woman who slept on, unaware of his presence, at least could be wholly his. He embraced this godsend with a grateful heart, knowing that the only response Kai could ever grant him was such as the one they had shared that same night in the great hall of the longhut. 

He crept even closer to his wife, gathered her hair in his hand and slowly coiled it around his wrist, savouring its faint flower-scented aroma, before nuzzling her neck and the silkiness of her skin. Trying to push away unwelcome thoughts of the harrowing day to come, he fell asleep, knowing himself home at last.

********

Benedicta was awakened by a feeling of completeness which had been missing in her life for months – and by a blindingly obvious weight across her waist. Drowsily, she turned her head and beheld a sight that made her wonder for a moment if she had died in her sleep, unaware, and woken in the Paradise promised by the priests.

Arthur slept by her side, breathing quietly and slightly turned towards her; his profile sharply defined by the light of the candle, flickering on its tripod. The drawn expression and the bluish shadows under the closed eyelids did not mar the customary beauty of his face, framed by hair longer than he usually wore. His outstretched arm lay on her waist, the palm facing the ceiling with an involuntary vulnerable gesture. Benedicta’s throat constricted.

Very gently, she slid away from his embrace and knelt, drawing away the bed covers, eager for a comprehensive glimpse of the man she had thought forever lost to her. He was thin to the point of scrawniness, his bone structure underlined by long muscles and sinews. New scars marred his skin; one paralleled his collarbone, the other, already fading, marred his ribcage. How could his enemies have got past his guard so?

She whispered disbelievingly, “Arthur – you’ve come back to me, My Love.”

At first, Benedicta stood transfixed, not daring to believe that he was indeed flesh and blood. But the temptation proved too strong; she began to stroke Arthur’s face adoringly, then his chest, as she hungrily took stock of him.

“It’s a true miracle. I’ll never doubt Heavens again.” She traced his scars with the tip of her fingers. “What on earth happened to you, Beloved?”

Tears overflowed at long last. Some of them rolled down her cheeks and fell onto Arthur’s chest and face.

As Benedicta watched him in wondering rapture, Arthur flinched, and blinked, and wiped his face.

“Are you trying to flood me, Guanhumara?” 

She mutely shook her head then inanely remarked, “You’re awake! Arthur, I –”

“It should be obvious…” Arthur sat up and drew her into his arms.

She frantically clung to him, holding on as if she would never again let him go. 

He slowly smiled, his hands moving to gather her gown and pull it over her head. “All I dreamed about. My own treasured wife in my own bed.”

He kissed her then, their lips rediscovering each other delicately, then with building passion.

Between kisses, he told her, “Sorry – I was so late – coming back –”

“It’s been awful,” Benedicta said. “But – you’re here, really here – that’s all I need.”

“Oh, I’m really here.” He wove sensuous patterns on her skin with both hands. As he tightened his hold, Benedicta shivered. “Or do you need some convincing?” His lips followed the paths his hands had scouted.

“How will you achieve that?” she teasingly retorted. Benedicta’s fingers, as if from their own volition, began to unknot the fastening of his breeches.

She sighed with pleasure when flesh wholly touched flesh without obstruction, her mounting desire echoed in her husband’s embrace, as she encouraged him to make up for all their lost nights.

“Do you know a better way to celebrate life?” Arthur asked her as she gasped and clawed by reflex at the hardening muscles on his healed back.

“No, my heart, I don’t.”


	8. Chapter 8

Derwen puffed a little as she put the pail, half-filled with nearly scalding water, on the threshold of Benedicta’s hut. It was too much, at her age! The pail was heavy, and she still had three others to fetch and carry before she was done. 

Why should Benedicta retain the luxury to wash with hot water in the seclusion of her hut, when most of the villagers had to bathe in the lake, whatever the season? It wasn’t fair!

She wouldn’t even be doing this task if the Lady Rowena had not insisted. Derwen wondered whether Benedicta suspected as much, or whether the foolish creature thought that this early morning ritual was of her own prompting.

However, the Roman bitch was not so very hard to please nowadays. Her fall from power pleased Derwen. Arthur’s widow put on less airs and graces now that she didn’t live in the longhut anymore. 

Benedicta’s attendant – the fool – had begged to be of continuing service to her mistress. She was reluctant to part from Nimue, having loved the brat since she was born, so Benedicta had relented, and allowed the woman to keep company to the little girl, as much for the child’s pleasure as for the reprieve it provided her. But she had released the woman from her other duties, so now she had to soil her pretty hands with hard toil, and on the whole, she now kept a low profile.

Derwen straightened, put on a face, entered the anteroom, and placed the pail of water near the wooden tub, in the corner of the room. 

Benedicta’s accommodation was not so very large now, but more than good enough for a single woman and a child. Some fineries and leftover luxuries adorned the room: brightly-coloured hangings, delicate-looking vessels, and four fine engraved chests. At one corner of the tub, Arthur’s carved great chair stood empty, his seat unoccupied since the Celt leader’s death. Kai had obstinately refused to use it; he hadn’t even commanded another one made for his use, but sat at the meetings in an ordinary seat, distinguished only by its situation upon the dais.

As Derwen was about to turn to fetch another bucket of water, she heard a sound that made her ears twitch: a low moan. Yes, it was a low moan. Another one, louder this time, followed the first.

Consumed with curiousity, she crept to the leather curtain that separated the sleeping chamber from the anteroom, and stole a look. On the bed, two unmistakably entwined outlines were rhythmically performing the oldest dance known to humankind. Benedicta’s hair spilled over the shape of the man beneath her. Try as she might, Derwen could not see his face; only his left shoulder and part of his flank, glistening in the pale light of a nearby candle.

As Derwen feverishly went over the names of the young warriors of the village, she heard Benedicta begging; sighs, whimpers and endearments punctuating her pleas.

The man laughed – a low husky laugh that Derwen, standing speechless in the doorway, didn’t recognize – and complied, his merriment cut short by the pleasure which seized him in turn.

Neither of the lovers had the slightest inkling that they were not alone. 

Derwen retreated, a very ugly smile settling on her lips.

********

Kai had a hard time not laughing out loud when Derwen went to him, quivering with indignation and hard concealed glee, to announce him that ‘that slut’ had taken a lover, not even waiting for the end of her mourning, as Derwen had always said she’d do at the first opportunity.

Rowena wasn’t that restrained; her eyebrows suddenly rose, and she had to leave the room precipitously, hiding her huge smile behind her hand.

Kai let her go out with a mock frown. Before him, the gossip monger raised an incredulous look to the new chieftain of the village. That half-expectant, half-wary look gave him an idea; Kai seized it with alacrity. Indeed, it would appeal to Arthur’s somewhat warped sense of humour; he knew that his brother’s sense of the theatrics would serve him well. Time for a reckoning!

He assured the woman that he would deal with it with utmost sternness, and sent her home.

Rowena’s inquisitive face peered from their curtained sleeping room. “Kai, what are you considering? I know that look.”

“I found a very nice way to kill two birds with just one stone.” He went towards his wife and whispered at length in her ear. 

Rowena let out a giggle. “You really are the most –”

Kai’s face took on an expression of injured innocence that promptly disappeared before a heart-felt smirk.

Rowena’s eyes twinkled. “Well, dear heart… Suggest it at your own risk! Benedicta _will_ kill you. I would, you know!”

“Let Arthur deal with it! After all, he wanted her; let him enjoy it to the fullest…” Kai winked. Time for a little play acting! 

He brushed his hair away from his brow and strode grimly to Benedicta’s hut. The Celts let him pass as they would do a savage boar set on the rampage.

********

It was still morning when Kai had Arthur’s great chair brought from his widow’s hut and set up at the forefront of the longhut. Flanking it were two smaller carved chairs. Rowena decorously sat on one of those. Llud stood behind her, his good hand on her shoulder, an involuntary smile intermittently stretching his mouth.

Kai swept out of the building. He had taken pains to wear his great fur cloak; its black folds and the bronze ornaments emphasized his straight stance. Under it, his best purple tunic showed off sleek grace and restrained tension. His choice of clothing, as well as the transporting of Arthur’s chair, created ripples of expectancy throughout the village, and those who were not otherwise engaged in pressing matters quickly gathered below the stairs.

Kai stood before the leader’s chair and beckoned the men and women of the village to come closer.

What vital announcement would their new leader make? Some already had some inkling of it; Derwen wasn’t known for her discretion. The older matrons had shaken their heads wisely, saying that they had foreseen the day Arthur would repent marrying this foreigner.

One man stood apart from the multitude, a smug smile on his face: Edan had the advantage of his friends, being of the confidence of his leader and his leader’s brother. He waited for Kai’s signal and bided his time.

When most of the people were standing before him, Kai asked Derwen to recount briefly what she had told him this morning. The woman sprang at her cue with the readiness Arthur had expected.

When her recitation was at an end, Kai commanded: “Edan! Fetch the Lady Benedicta before us! Publicly she has erred, publicly she will answer!”

The Lady Benedicta crossed the courtyard with her customary coolness. She had carefully done her hair: braided in a coronet of pale gold. It added to her dignity. The ‘shameless hussy’ even wore one of her best gowns; on it, the gold necklace Arthur had given her at Nimue’s birth stood out. The women remarked upon it.

A step behind Benedicta, holding her right hand in his, Arthur, his shoulders and head concealed by a hooded cloak of coarse spun wool, came forth with the ‘adulterer.’

A woman spat at his feet, though none followed suit; something must have warned them to hold back.

They stopped beneath Arthur’s former chair. At the foot of the steps, Benedicta reluctantly let go of his hand.

Kai motioned them to come closer. He sternly asked: “What can you say in your defense?”

Arthur removed his cloak and with a swift, smooth gesture, let it drop on the floor.

The villagers closest to him were rooted to the ground, speechless. He turned to face the others, slowly ascending the stairs to the longhut so they could see him better. Benedicta followed his lead.

Arthur retorted sweetly: “Do I really need to answer that?”

From the crowd, a cheerful voice rang out: “Hey, Kai! Does Arthur need your leave now to fuck his wife?”

“I would hope not,” Arthur suavely retorted.

Laughter rippled among the villagers.

Benedicta looked quite mortified and her eyes shot daggers at Kai. Seeing it, Rowena laughed and whispered to him: “Kai, my Love, I told you so… You are a very dead man!”

Arthur seized Benedicta’s hand again and bestowed a brief kiss on her knuckles.

Women in the crowd cheered, as did Rowena. Some women wiped their eyes; the men were beaming appreciatively at the scene.

When Arthur reached Kai's side on the centre of the platform, Kai moved aside and let him take centre-stage, merely saying: “Behold! Your once and future chieftain!”

Arthur took a step back, and sat down on his great chair, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and motioned Benedicta to join him. Silently, she sat at his right hand. Kai stood behind him. Arthur felt the pressure of Kai’s hand on his shoulder, in wordless acknowledgement of the burden he made his again.

One by one, the Celts began to stamp, making the earth thunder, in unison with the clang of weapons against shields.

With a peremptory gesture, Arthur waved them silent. “There is more. Listen!” 

The Celts waited expectantly.

In a few ringing words, Arthur told the assembly what had happened to him since the fateful hunting party; of his rescue by a party of Wood People; of the healing done by the Eldest One, and of his slow recovery. His shock when he had learned of his own ‘death.’ Of Cerdig's help in apprising him of what had happened in his absence, and his willingness to keep the balance of power stable, and of his hasty return.

As Arthur told his story, the faces around him went through dismay, horror and anger. Some men made as if they would go and punish the culprits. 

Arthur’s eyes burned bright for an instant. “Their calculation went awry, whatever it was. They will disclose all. Bring them out!” 

Exultantly, Edan hastened to do his bidding.

Roughly handled by their guards, the five men stumbled in the yard. The crowd parted before them as if they carried a contagious disease.

Surely treachery is not catching? Arthur mused. Yet, they are wary of the perjurers. They who had sworn to protect the village and who could have left it open to wholesale slaughter and misery. Or are they afraid that I would consider any look of compassion as collusion?’

He settled more comfortably in his great chair. Of the men below him, only Nolan returned his glare; so he was the leader of this lot... Defiance would not help him, now. 

Arthur let his voice ring out. “Here you are... animals! Brann prevented, in part, your mischief. If I hadn’t brought him along …” He broke off, red-hot rage filling his mind. Nonetheless he went on with a pleasant voice: “So, Nolan, what would you have done that day, if Kai had accompanied us as he wished to? Would you have postponed my death for another occasion?”

Nolan exchanged glances with his henchmen. He must know that whatever he said, his ruin was assured: he had nothing to gain now, or to lose.

“No,” said Nolan. “You thwarted me for a long time. I was enraged against you and I was keen to strike.” He measured Kai up with a swift glance. “Even the Saxon would not have stayed my hand.”

Kai gripped Arthur’s chair, but chose to remain silent. 

Arthur smiled wolfishly. “Thwarted you?”

“Yes. You chose _him_.” Nolan spat on the ground, his glance designating Kai, more baldly than if he had pointed at him. “You chose that Saxon scum to be your right-hand man. _I_ should have been he. Wasn’t my father your father’s lieutenant, along with Llud?”

Arthur answered him quietly: “Must you always think of lineage instead of valor? People count – not heritage.” He paused, considering. “And yet you did nothing against Kai when he was in my place. Why?”

Nolan's chin went up. “I would have, in time. When the Saxon relaxed his guard.”

“Enough!” Arthur slowly got to his feet. “Your father was my father's man, but Kai has proved my shield-brother as long as I have known him. I need know no more.” He shot Nolan a scornful look. “All of you, witness how well these have kept their pledges to me! Should I leave the security of the village to such as these? Or let them boast of it?”

The villagers began to grumble among themselves. One, hardier than the rest, loudly assented: “Arthur did well. _I_ ’ll follow Kai into battle anywhere. He never let us down, but for one time. And he redeemed it to the full.” **[NOTE 5]** More voices supported this claim. 

Arthur raised a hand above his head, and all fell silent. 

He turned on the miscreants. “Butchers! You betrayed us all! We cannot have a broken link in our midst. If one fails, all suffer. Yet you sought murder. And to what end? Fools! Don’t you see that you put us all at risk? If not for Kai, the Celtic pact would be dust and ashes and so would you! How much time do you think it would take for our enemies to attack us?”

Arthur sat down, grasping at the arms of his chair to control his temper. His hand met Kai’s and held on it for the briefest moment.

“—You gambled your life against mine. You lost and for this wager, the penalty is death.”

He assessed the mood of the crowd. All eyes were focused on him; none expressed the slightest sympathy for the would-be murderers. 

“Take them away!”

The men, ineffectually struggling between their guards, were steered away.

Arthur turned his attention to the only unwilling conspirator still kneeling at his feet. Brann’s wife, white-faced and trembling, had pushed through the fringe of the crowd and was waiting as well for his condemnation.

“Brann, I would have banished you if not for Kai’s good word. You are now here upon _his_ terms. This is your last chance. Don’t waste it!” 

He didn’t think Brann would, from the look of him. Brann's wife hastened to her husband's side, adding her thanks to his.

Arthur nodded. The villagers dispersed, talking among themselves. This would feed numerous talks for months to come.

Kai smiled at him. “So glad to be back that you can afford to be lenient?”

“Not leniency, Kai, gratitude of a sort. Nolan ordered Brann to finish me off; he was to throw me into the river. I would have sunk like a stone … Brann lied to him: I heard him. At least, he had that much courage.” He heaved a sigh. “We live in such a world that, out of any five men, one at least may possibly prove honorable. Now I have the full measure of Brann.”

Kai pensively shook his head. “So you take one last chance with him.”

“Everybody deserves one, don’t you think? —”

Kai was startled into wariness.

“—but sometimes one may not quite grasp it,” Arthur acknowledged, adding matter-of-factly: “ _Nothing_ has changed, Kai.”

“I know. Still…”

“Yes, it feels good to be alive, and to be cared for as I know I am.”

Both men turned around to look at their wives. Arm-in-arm, they were leaning over the wooden balustrade, watching Nimue, who was running across the yard, calling to her father.

Arthur smiled tenderly at his daughter. “Nimue almost smothered me this morning with her delight.”

“Hmm. She’s going to be clingy like ivy, you know. As we all will.”

Benedicta waved back to her daughter and sighed happily. “Well, time to move those heavy chests again.” She radiated contentment. “But first, Arthur’s return calls for a giant feast tonight, don’t you agree?”

Rowena came nearer the men. “I couldn’t agree more. We must get to it right away… If you will excuse us?” She put her arms around Arthur’s neck, and lightly kissed his cheek. “Welcome back, dearest brother. We _did_ miss you. Benedicta?”

“I’m coming.” Arthur’s wife turned to him. “Yes, by all means, let’s celebrate life and goodness tonight.” She addressed her husband, “You _were_ very good, you know.” Her eyes held a mischievous sparkle.

Arthur almost managed to keep a straight face. “I’m pleased you think so, my heart.”

Puzzled, Rowena said: “Goodness? You mean Brann? But, surely — it was a thought-out, well-tempered decision, wasn’t it?”

Arthur and Benedicta burst out laughing.

_**Finis** _

____________________  
 **[NOTE 5]** : [What He Deserved](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1551242). 


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